


Is That A Frag Launcher In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?

by Avocado



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Female reader with a vagina, Fluff, Kissing, Lots of Cuddling, Love, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Sex, She/her pronouns, Smut, and cuddling, bisexual reader, i really like junkrat having a soft side okay, mentioned mccree/reader, mentioned pharah/reader, reader is a support character, this turned out more fluffy than i thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avocado/pseuds/Avocado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was hard to have time for romance at Overwatch. At least, that’s what you told yourself. It meant that you didn’t have to get attached to anyone and the string of affairs you had were just that, affairs. <br/>Of course, nothing is ever that simple. Especially not with Fawkes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is That A Frag Launcher In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! SO i love overwatch and junkrat is my trash husband and i wanted to write smut. so i did. i tried to use australian slang but as i am not australian please forgive any mistakes. i hope you enjoy this strange piece of smutty fluff i churned out.

It was hard to have time for romance at Overwatch. At least, that’s what you told yourself. It meant that you didn’t have to get attached to anyone and the string of affairs you had were just that, affairs. No lasting emotional bonds to have complications over. Just sex. Something enjoyable to look forward to in between hectic missions.

At least, that was the plan. And it had been working, you reflected, as Fareeha pulled on her clothes and bid you goodbye. It was a good system. And at the time you didn’t want to change it.

But nothing is ever that simple.

You didn’t remember when Jamison Fawkes had first caught your eye. He must have been in Overwatch for some time – you had been acutely aware of the burning smell he brought with him for a while. You had never found yourself on a mission with him though, which was odd, given that you had been on the field with basically every other member of the newly formed Overwatch. You were usually bang in the middle of the squad, providing support through your touch-sensitive health restoring gloves. Your job was essentially to slap the life back into people. And you did it well.

You figured he would be someone you wouldn’t have much contact with. And that was fine by you. Keeping everyone alive was more important than making friends.

Of course, after you had that revelation, you were deployed with him on your next mission.

There was a skirmish in North England. A group of Omnic protestors had attacked a small town. It wasn’t anything major, and that was why the powers that be had only sent a small squad. Mainly Jamison, his large friend Roadhog, and you. Lena was meant to be on the roster but had been called away last minute with a hearty chunk of the rest of the team to go and deal with an uprising somewhere in America. This had made things awkward. Lena was your friend and you were counting on her to be a social buffer between you and these two men you’d never met before.

“It’s alright, love, they’re pretty decent lads,” she had said to you over the holocaster after you’d called her in concern, grinning that great smile of hers. “They’re a bit bonkers sometimes but that ain’t nothin’ you can’t handle.”

And so you sat in the hangar alone, waiting for your transport to arrive, wondering when your colleagues would turn up.

You heard them before you saw them. Or smelt them.

There was a sort of manic laughter and a distant _boom_ , and as it got louder there was a certain rattling cough that accompanied it. A symphony of commotion. And when they burst into the room you wondered just _how_ you hadn’t noticed them for so long.

Fawkes – _Junkrat,_ you reminded yourself, knowing it was a good habit to get into using code names – looked around the room wildly, a his face beaming, eyes slightly unfocussed until they landed on you. His smile got even wider, if possible.

“Ah! Awight Sheila?” he said, making his way across the room to you, causing a small explosion in his wake as he dropped what appeared to be a home-made mine. “I’m Junkrat, and the big fella here is Roadhog. Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure!”

He stuck out a hand for you to shake, incredibly close to your chest. It was a prosthetic. That didn’t bother you, but you did flinch slightly from the sudden intrusion of personal space, and Junkrat faltered for just a split second before his smile returned.

“Yes… Erm, I mean, no. We haven’t met. I’m your healer. It’s good to meet you.” To your credit, you managed to regain your poise very quickly. Cool, calm. That was the person who you strove to be.

“Erm. You’re smouldering,” you stated to Junkrat, watching with alarm as embers smoked violently in his hair. His eyes went wide, but he wasn’t knocked from his confidence like before.

“Well, ta. But at least buy a bloke dinner first,” he said jovially, and his hair burst into flames.

“No, you are literally on fire,” came your reply. He nodded, taking in this information, before manically trying to pat out the fire and failing. Roadhog heaved a sigh which shook his whole body before engulfing his associate’s head with one gargantuan hand. Junkrat stopped moving and smoke escaped from between Roadhog’s fingers. You couldn’t help but let a smile grace your lips. And, as Junkrat pulled apart his friend’s digits to peep through and saw your face, he returned it just as thoroughly.

You reached out your right hand to him, offering again the handshake you had previously missed. He took it with his right hand, his metal hand, and shook it enthusiastically. Roadhog was much gentler in his greeting, but was also probably aware too much force could break the hands you would heal them with.

“It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you,” you said, and Junkrat let out a giggle.

* * *

 

The mission, in of itself, was reasonably straightforward. No hidden ambushes, no major injuries. You were worried that you’d lose your teammates on the battlefield, what with their being such a small group of you, but Roadhog made sure he always stayed in your line of sight and all you had to do was follow the explosions to find Fawkes. Whenever they needed you you were always right there, slapping your hands over their wounds and healing them right back up. There wasn’t much time for other thoughts further than the battlefield, and for a few hours, that was all that filled your head.

With what you guessed was a minimal amount of destruction by their standards, the skirmish was settled and you were off back on your way to the base. Your thoughts were your own again. And, on the transporter back to base, you found your eyes drawn to the smaller of your two companions. He didn’t notice for his part, in between his giggling and twitching. There was something sort of _handsome_ about him. Maybe it was the sharpness of his features, or his limitless confidence, or maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was when you touched down back at base that evening you found yourself grabbing his arm before he galloped off.

Fawkes spun round, a little surprised at the touch, but his smile was just as large. He clearly hadn’t expected any further communication past the mission.

“Jamison. What are you doing right now?”

“Talkin’ t’you?” he replied, and you weren’t sure if he was joking or really didn’t catch your drift.

“I mean. Now the mission’s finished. What are your plans?”

“Oh! Well me an’ the big fella here were pro’lly gonna grab a drink, cobber.”

You stifled a sigh. Did he want you to spit it straight out?

“I figured you’d maybe want to come back to my quarters. With me. Just us.”

He studied you for a moment, his ticks and giggles halted. He was trying to see if you were joking. When he saw no sign of a smile on you, he turned back to Rutledge. The big man did nothing for a second, before he shrugged as if he didn’t get it either and gave a thumbs-up in approval.

“Oh!... _Oh._ Yeah, awi-”

You were dragging him off before he could finish.

Your room wasn’t far from the hangar, something that had proved to be immeasurably useful on many occasions. You began to take off your gloves outside your door, ready to scan your palm to open the lock. But the moment you stilled you felt Jamison’s hand on your arse and he spun you round and pinned you against the door, that metal leg of his keeping your thighs open. Both of his hands were on your tits and sort of mashing them against your body as his fingers sank into your flesh. His mouth was on yours, sloppy, tasting of fire.

And you’re surprised at how abrupt it was, but also how fucking _wet_ it was making you.

“ _Fuck,_ Rat-!” you managed when he pulled his face away from yours with a wet _suck_ , replacing it with his teeth on your neck, biting down. _Hard._ Your hand found it’s way to the scanner lock and the door slid open behind you. The two of you fell into the room unceremoniously, but it was a fitting entrance for this sort of rough-and-tumble fuck.

You scrambled to kick the door shut again as Fawkes teethed at your breasts, almost as if he didn’t care about the fabric in the way. You noted to yourself, in the back of your head, that this is the quietest he’s been since you first met him – with his mouth occupied on your body.

You felt something hard against your leg. You weren’t sure if it was a frag launcher, of if he was just happy to see you. A quick grope revealed, no, it _was_ the frag launcher, but he also had a massive hard-on which he was now rutting against you with. By this point he’d all but ripped your shirt off and was planting bites across your chest and the soft flesh of your breasts, and you became aware you were moaning with every one. Your hands snaked up his surprisingly sturdy chest and unclipped his ammo belt. His tire fell to the floor with a hefty _thud_ , and the weight on top of you became a lot lighter.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sheila,” he giggled manically into your ear as you reached into his shorts and grabbed his dick. A reasonable size, probably about seven inches, you’d guess. You’d had bigger, but he was still deliciously thick. He fucked into your hand and coated your palm with pre-cum, but you didn’t mind – his mouth had moved onto your now exposed breasts, licking and sucking at your nipples with no regard for their wellbeing. The poor fuckers were gonna chafe tomorrow, you mused, but you didn’t want him to stop.

 _“Fuck it_ ,” he muttered to himself from where his face was pushed between your tits, and he pretty much _threw_ you onto the bed, front first. You went to get up but before you could scramble to your hands and knees your pants were pulled down and his face was firmly planted in your cunt. You screeched in surprise as he licked you up and down as he fucked you with his face, sometimes giving your asshole an experimental tongue, other times feeling your clit with the end of that nose of his. You nearly did scream when he added his metal fingers to the mix, warm from the heat of your bodies, but still an unfamiliar feeling. At first he just used one to get you open, not that it took much work, but then he added another and started scissoring inside you.

“Ohh m-my g-god-d,” you managed as he fucked you with his fingers into the mattress, and you felt yourself building up until you came all over his hand. You were probably wet enough for him to get his whole fist in you, but you weren’t quite sure if you wanted to test that. When his fingers were removed you swore, but just as quickly they were replaced with the warm, hard flesh of his dick. He pushed it firmly into you and you gasped, your pussy still wet and raw from your first orgasm.

He didn’t let up. He fucked you like there was no tomorrow. You could hear him laughing in ecstasy and you could have _sworn_ he let out a ‘woohoo!’. You could hear the whirring of his mechanical leg, and you wondered if it had anything to do with the punishing pace he was putting up, his balls slapping against you hard with every thrust. Either way he kept fucking you like that, too hard for you to begin to move from where his hands were on your hips, and as you orgasmed again you let the pleasure turn into pain and then make its way back to pleasure again, screaming into a pillow.

You felt him release inside you and coat your walls with himself, but he didn’t stop. He just kept fucking you, milking his own orgasm for every drop. His breathing was getting erratic though, and he was beginning to drop his pace.

“Y’… y’finished?” he asked, heavily. You managed a nod. Yes. Yes, your poor vagina had rather had enough orgasms for the moment. You flopped down on the bed as he pulled out of you, hissing from the sting, and pulled your pants back up. You closed your eyes and wondered if you had a change of bedsheets, or if you’d have to have an awkward conversation with the cleaning staff again.

Then something very strange happened.

Usually, on flings like this, when you were both done your caller would put on their clothes and leave. There was nothing cold about it. That was just the way that it was done. Once again, there was no real time for connections.

But Jamison Fawkes instead flopped down next to you and wrapped an arm around you. He was still naked, his dick and mouth wet from your cunt, and he didn’t seem to notice when you froze in surprise as he embraced you.

“Well, that was grouse,” he said, jovially, his voice betraying no sign of physical exertion. You couldn’t say the same though. Post-orgasm, you were knackered and already your eyes were closing. You opened your mouth to reply, but you lost your words when he nuzzled his face into your hair.

You fell asleep instead. And when you woke up, he was still there.

He was on his back, mouth open, covered in dirt and soot and snoring like a warthog, but he was still there.

You smiled.

* * *

 

It became somewhat of a regular thing. At first, it was every time the two of you went on a mission together. Then it became every time one of you went on a mission at all. And _then,_ at some point, it passed needing a reason. He’d just turn up at your door with that smile of his, usually smelling of smoke, and things would just sort of go from there. It seemed like nothing would stop him. You recalled a time when he had come calling for you to find you curled up on your bunk, a half-eaten tin of chocolates next to you.

“Hey, whatsa matter?” he asked, his voice tinged with a genuine concern. You groaned and felt around for another chocolate.

“Ugh, I’m on my period,” you mumbled, dolefully. You felt a hand on your hip, comforting. And then it began to move towards your cunt. You turned to Fawkes, who was feigning innocence until a huge smile cracked out on his face.

“Did you not hear me?” you said, smiling a little despite your terrible cramps.

“Well. I’m game if you are,” he said, matter-of-factly.

You considered for a moment, then shrugged, then nodded. And that was how after five minutes you found yourself on your back, your legs spread apart with Fawkes’s firm grip, him hammering away into you, coating his dick and your upper legs with blood. He chuckled manically, and it was sort of infectious, and the two of you found yourselves fucking wildly and laughing with reckless abandon. And, even then, when you were finished and bloody, he still stayed. And he still held you.

He always held you.

And then you found it wasn’t even about sex any more. The two of you would find yourselves in the mess hall together, eating side by side, or going for a wander round the base. Not really doing anything, just talking, just laughing. Because he did. Make you laugh. And you found that you had needed that more than you knew.

One day, it suddenly struck you that ever since your first time together, you hadn’t had sex with anyone else. About three weeks into whatever it was the two of you had together, and you had been heading to your room when you heard the _clack-clack_ of boots coming up behind you. McCree placed a hand on your waist.

“You got a free bed tonight, darlin’?

You could smell the smoke on his breath behind you. Usually you’d find it enticing. But your eye was drawn to a scorch mark on the wall next to your door, a mark of where Junkrat had been. You put your hand on it.

“No. Not tonight, Jesse.”

He let go of you and drew back, respectfully. But his hand did covers yours for a second on the wall.

“Good luck with him, darlin’.”

He left you alone, but your hand didn’t move for a while. Eventually you drew it back and looked at the smudge now on your palm. You found yourself smiling.

You did that a lot when you thought of Junkrat nowadays.

You were sitting in the living quarters one night. It was just the two of you, in the small hours. The two of you had been boozing, and then you had sobered up, and then you had just started talking. He told you all about his life before Overwatch, with big gestures and all the sound effects, and you were hooked on his every word. And then it was your turn.

You didn’t know if he’d noticed that you never let your pants come off during sex. Whenever he started fiddling around with your zipper you’d find a distraction for his hands, which was pretty easy. But that night you took off your jeans and put your left leg up on his lap and showed him the prosthetic that replaced flesh under your calf.

“There was a bomb. I lost my leg, my mother lost her arms, and my father lost his life. And I promised that as long as I was around I’d never let anyone get hurt again. Not if I could help it. So I spent the next decade working on those-” you gestured to your healing gloves that rested on a side table “and making people better. And that’s been my life.”

Junkrat looked at you. _Really_ looked at you. He was incredibly still, his eyes searching into yours. When he turned away it was to look at the leg that was still in his lap. His hands went to it, carefully, gently. And he began to run his fingers up and down the metal there as softly as if he was playing an instrument. And then his touch went up to your face and he cupped your cheek and he kissed you, more tenderly than he ever had before.

“Y’know I love ya, right?” he said, with a conviction in his voice you’d never heard before. You rested your forehead against his and closed your eyes.

“I know.”

* * *

 

You held his hand whenever you were about together, found yourself leaning into his chest. Nuanced couple things. You were basically inseparable. At first you were worried you were keeping him from Roadhog, the man who had been his closest friend in the first place. But to his credit Rutledge didn’t seem fazed by your presence. Once, in the living room, when Junkrat had fallen asleep using your tits as a pillow, you had managed to have a conversation with the man. Not that he was much of a talker, but still.

“He’s a yabber,” Roadhog had grunted, “but he’s a good one.”

You nodded and stroked the blond hair tickling at your chin. Junkrat let out a rattling snore and muttered something about kangaroos in his sleep.

“Yeah. He is,” you replied.

And it stuck with you. Because Junkrat might have been loud, crude, inappropriate, and slightly insane – but he was good. And he loved you, in his own strange way.

You didn’t quite know how to deal with that fact. You weren’t particularly good with emotions at the best of times. You preferred to keep to yourself, it was easier that way – but now this man who you cared for deeply had told you this mind-blowing thing and you had no idea how to handle it.

That was, until the day of Lúcio’s new album release.

It had been a reasonably quiet day for the team. There were no missions to go and see to, so instead everyone had busied themselves with celebrating Lúcio’s success. In the mess hall the tables had been cleared to the sides and the musician was blasting out his new music from heavy speakers (much to the annoyance of some). Hana had opened up her mech and set off a disco-light function. It was sort of cheesy, but it was very sweet to see the whole team reasonably relaxed. You sat in the corner and watched your friends dance – Hana and Lúcio hadn’t stopped since the start, the two kids seemed to run on energy drink though so it wasn’t a surprise. Zarya was swinging around a giggling Mei and sweeping her in for a kiss every now and then. Out the corner of your eye you could see Jesse miming throwing a lasso round Hanzo and pretending to drag him over to dance, but instead the man just remained sitting stony-faced.

“G’day,” came a greeting from beside you, and Junkrat flopped down on a close by seat. You were puzzled. Something about him seemed… different.

“Have you… showered?” you asked. Was it your imagination or did he blush a bit?

“Well, y’know. Figured, well… because it’s Lúcio’s bash n’ that, didn’t just wanna blow in…” he trails off, muttering gently and nonsensically to himself. You found yourself smiling again. God, it even looked like he’d washed the grease out of his hair. Or tried to anyway. It was swept back in a style that’s almost presentable instead of just sticking up wildly. “Prolly won’t make a habit of it,” he ended.

“You look nice,” you said quietly. His smile in response wasn’t manic as it usually was, instead it was somewhat sincere.

“Did you wanna have a dance?”

The bluntness of it surprises you and you didn’t quite know what to say.

“I’m, uh, not much of a dancer.”

Junkrat gestured to his metal leg.

“Hah! Ditto! Come on, love. What’ve ya got to lose?”

You bit your lip, considering, and then got to your feet.

“Let’s go Jamison. Me and you. On the floor.”

“That’s more like it!” he says, and he grabbed your hand and spun you round. You squeaked wildly but he pulled you back to a solid footing, holding you against his chest. He bobbed erratically to the beat of the music, but he did so with such conviction you couldn’t help but join in. His hand was on your waist and he held you in a mock-ballroom sort of style. You realised his metal leg was between yours and it reminded you of the way you first fucked after that mission all those moons ago. But now this is something deeper. Something more tender. Not just mindless rutting like animals.

Maybe it’s the strange effect that this bonkers Aussie has had on you, or maybe you had always wanted to be this soft, but you found yourself resting your head on his chest. His heart beat strongly as you listened to his chest, as wild as the rest of him.

 “I love you.” The words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. You didn’t regret saying it, though. Jamison paused for a moment before squeezing you tightly.

“I know,” he whispered, and he dipped you down wildly into a kiss. It was a sweet gesture, but before your lips could connect properly, he lost his balance and you fell to the floor with him landing heavily on top of you soon after. You both let out an “oof!”

“Oh, fuck!” Junkrat cried out, but then you made eye contact and both begin to laugh. On the floor, in the middle of everyone, all eyes on the two of you. His hand found yours in the midst of the madness and he held onto your fingers as if he was gripping onto life.

And lying there, tears in your eyes with your lover’s hand in yours, you thought about how this is the happiest you can remember being.

 

 


End file.
